


Not Forever

by quartzguts



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Amnesia, M/M, Stargazing, braig keeps a diary and thinks xehanort should too, dubiously unhappy ending, set when they're apprentices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 01:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20249917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartzguts/pseuds/quartzguts
Summary: He wanted to go with Braig. Even if he knew deep in his heart it would only hurt.





	Not Forever

**Author's Note:**

> i probably didn't edit this one as much as i should have

\---

“What are you doing?”

It was a valid question, all things considered. Xehanort had been minding his own business, carefully observing the experiment spread out in front of him, when Braig had walked right up behind him and started brushing his hair. Not to say it didn’t feel nice - Xehanort was tense from a long day of arguing with Master Ansem about the heart experiments, and the sensation was definitely relaxing - but it _ was _unnerving.

Braig grinned at him lazily. “Just helping out.”

“I fail to see how you interrupting my work is helpful,” Xehanort said.

“Really? Damn, for someone so smart you can be pretty dense!” Braig said. “You’re stressed. I’m helping you calm down.”

Xehanort quickly knocked the brush away from his hair. “Insulting me will get you nowhere,” he growled, “and neither will insincere gestures of affection. Get out.”

“Insincere? C’mon, there’s no need to be coy, Mister Master.” Braig slipped the brush into a pocket, this time using his hands to comb through Xehanort’s hair. “Relax, I got you.”

Xehanort nearly stumbled out of his stool trying to get away from those hands. In the process, he jostled the lab bench, nearly knocking over his experiment. “What is wrong with you?” he hissed, trying desperately to stabilize the wobbling glassware. “This is unacceptable, look what you did-!”

“You mean what _ you _did? It’s not nice to blame your mistakes on others, you know.” Braig gave the table a hard shove for good measure, causing Xehanort to yelp as some of the contents of a test tube spilled out.

“Damnit, now we have to initiate the spill protocols and -”

“As if. If this stuff was really dangerous you’d’ve put it under the fume hood. Just wipe it up with a towel and be done with it.”

“There are procedures to follow. You know that.”

“As if we actually follow them,” Braig replied easily. “You spent all day fighting with Master Ansem about just that, right?”

Xehanort gave him a decidedly unimpressed look. “That’s completely different. Master Ansem is trying to restrict scientific research which could benefit thousands over petty ethics concerns. The scientific method, proper lab technique - those are things which cannot be sacrificed.”

“If you say so.”

Braig leaned against the wall as he watched Xehanort quickly run through the checklist for a minor chemical spill, cleaning the table and glassware thoroughly and venting the entire area. By the time he was finished, the sun was setting outside, casting pink-orange light through the windows.

“It’s getting late,” Braig remarked. “You heading home?”

“I don’t really have a choice,” Xehanort muttered. “That experiment takes several hours to perform. If you hadn’t ruined it, I could have finished before nine. Now it’s too late to restart. I’ll have to come in early tomorrow….”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. C’mon, I’ll escort you back to your room.”

Xehanort glared at him. “That won’t be necessary.”

Braig grinned. “As a castle guard, it is my sworn duty to make sure each and every person who works here gets home safely,” he said, his tone an odd mix of sarcastic and sincere. “It’d be awfully unprofessional of me to let a pretty thing like yourself walk home alone so late.”

Xehanort palmed his face, partly out of exasperation and partly to hide the red dusting his cheeks. “Fine.”

They walked through the castle’s halls in relative silence. The sun was slowly setting outside, bleeding orange and pink rays of light through the windows. The castle always looked strangely out of place at this time of day, like it belonged in a fairy tale. Like it wasn't real.

The hallways, familiar now that Xehanort had spent months passing through them each day, unnerved him at sunset. The deep shadows obscured the ornate patterns in the walls and ceilings just enough that they fazed into something else for just a moment. Sometimes the walls seemed pure white, high and imposing, and sometimes they seemed gold and blue, familiar and comforting. The deja vu had to be from some old memory locked away in his heart, innocuous if not slightly annoying, but it didn’t make the experience any less disturbing.

Braig slung an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. “Hey, you alright?”

“Yes,” Xehanort said, voice clipped. “I am just fine, thank you.”

Braig gave him a look that was impossible to identify, then made a quick turn down an unfamiliar hallway, dragging Xehanort with him.

“What are you doing?” Xehanort said. “My room is in the other direction.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.”

“Then where-?”

Braig grinned. “My room. I wanna show you something.”

Xehanort glared, his cheeks burning again. “If that is a euphemism, I swear I will kill you.”

“No need to worry, sweetheart,” Braig said. “It would be awfully uncouth of me to drag a lady to my room under false pretenses."

Xehanort knew that last comment was meant to rile him up, so he endeavoured to ignore it. “This better not take too long. Given that I’ll have to wake up early tomorrow, I'll need a full night’s rest.”

Braig laughed. “Come on, killjoy, late nights are the best time of the day! It's totally worth staying up past sunset.”

Xehanort scoffed. “And why is that, exactly? Lab access is restricted after nine thirty. The castle’s library closes for cleaning at seven. There’s nothing to do this late.”

“I can’t believe you,” Braig said. “It’s only eight forty five and you’re acting like it’s already midnight. There’s plenty to do!”

“Like?”

“Night life in the city! Alcohol, dancing, maybe cooking up a little romance with a cutie you met under the moonlight -”

“Of course you would immediately come up with something vulgar,” Xehanort said, shrugging Braig’s arm off his shoulders. The slight burning his his cheeks from Braig’s earlier comment worsened. “I shouldn’t have expected anything else.”

Braig was quick to loop his now free arm around Xehanort’s own, keeping him close. “Well, there’s other things I bet you’d be interested in.”

“I doubt that.”

“Not even stargazing?”

Xehanort slowed his steps. “Star… gazing? What is that?” He felt like he had heard that term before, in another world or maybe another life. For some reason he couldn’t identify, a flood of soft feelings started bubbling up in his chest. A quick glance at Braig’s gentle expression and those feelings surged.

“We used to do it all the time,” Braig said. “Just lying back and looking at the stars. It’ll be fun, I promise. Just need to get some stuff from my room."

Xehanort didn’t have any memories to draw back on, but something told him that it would most certainly not be _ fun _. The bubbling feelings were starting to soak into his thoughts, clouding his judgement. He should say no, should go back to his room and go to bed early so he’ll be ready for the day tomorrow, but something held him back.

He wanted to go with Braig. Even if he knew deep in his heart it would only hurt.

“Okay,” he said. “Lead the way.”

Braig’s room was located in the guard’s barracks, on the other side of the castle close to the exit. It was an utter mess, with clothes scattered on the floor and papers strewn all over his desk and bed, but looking around Xehanort could see that everything was in some form of chaotic order. Braig unlocked a desk drawer and shuffled around its contents, tossing journals and papers onto the floor, before pulling out a small book. He held it up, grinning. It had a deep purple cover and appeared to be leather, with a small strap keeping it shut.

"Am I supposed to know what that is?" Xehanort asked. It sounded harsher that he intended, but Braig didn’t seem to mind.

"It's an old journal of mine,” he said. “It's got some pages that need to be filled. Figured tonight would be a good opportunity."

"Hm." Xehanort glanced around the room again. He'd never been here before, and he wanted to burn all of it into his memory so he wouldn't forget it.

"Hey, you ever think about keeping a journal yourself?" Braig asked suddenly, shoving the drawer shut and grabbing a pen off his desk. "It might help with that anxiety of yours."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Xehanort said.

"Yeah, you do. You're afraid you'll forget everything again."

Braig wandered over to the door and nudged Xehanort out of the room. Xehanort kept looking at the floor as Braig closed the door and locked it.

"It is possible," Xehanort muttered. "I still don't know why I lost my memory. If it was due to an underlying medical problem - a stroke, maybe, or -"

"You're awfully young to be having strokes, and there are plenty of other causes of amnesia." Braig grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall.

"Yes, but -"

"And strokes don't usually cause total memory loss, right?"

"Well, no, but -"

"And other than the memory loss, you're fine, right?"

"Yes…."

Braig rubbed little circles into Xehanort's palm with his thumb. "So you're fine. Stop worrying about it."

Xehanort took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. His heart was beating a mile a minute, almost painfully, but that was normal when he was around Braig. He picked up his pace so Braig wasn’t dragging him anymore.

Not wanting to talk, he looked out through the hallway’s high windows. The night sky beyond the was as dark as it could get in the eternal dawn of Radiant Garden, deep purples and pinks swirling together beyond the clouds. He could faintly see stars lining the sky as the moon took over the sun in lighting the world.

Xehanort looked to Braig, his eyes catching on his leather eyepatch. Ever since he'd come to the castle, he'd been strangely drawn to him. Braig said they'd known each other before Xehanort lost his memory, but when he'd tried to ask him about it he only ever got odd little comments or affectionate smiles. The most compelling thing he’d gotten out of him was the completely nonsensical question of whether or not he was _ Terra _. The name made Xehanort feel unsteady. He wondered if it had been his name once, long ago.

Braig kept leading him through the castle, making turn after turn. Every hallway looked exactly the same. Xehanort frowned. He'd only been in Radiant Garden for a few months, but he'd thought he had the castle layout pretty much down. Apparently not.

It was times like this he was reminded just how big the castle was. How big the _ world _was. It was so much vaster than Xehanort or Braig or Master Ansem. He pictured himself, tiny and unimportant, among all the worlds in existence. Something about it didn't sit right with him. The feeling sunk deep into his stomach and stayed there like a rock.

He shuddered and leaned closer to Braig.

"Something wrong?" He asked easily, turning them down another corridor and opening a door to reveal a flight of stairs.

"No," Xehanort lied.

Braig didn't push it. They started up, ascending flight after flight. Xehanort had been reasonably pleased when he'd discovered months ago that his body was fit and well muscled, and he'd tried to stay in shape since then, but he was still breathing heavy by the time they reached the exit."

Braig used his master key to unlock the door and nudged it open with his foot, holding out his hand with a dramatic flourish. "Your evening has been prepared, Master."

Xehanort shivered a little at being called _ Master _. It was embarrassing, but it seemed right. He took Braig's hand.

They stepped out onto the roof of the castle. This particular section was both flat and high up, providing them an uninhibited view of the endless expanse of stars above. Xehanort marvelled at them, little sparkles of light hanging in depths of purple and pink. A sky trapped in dawn acting as the backdrop for an infinite night.

"Beautiful, huh," Braig said. Xehanort tried very hard not to note that Braig was looking at him and not the sky above them.

"Sure," he said. "Now, how are we to do this?"

"First we lie down," Braig said, lying down on the rooftop. Xehanort hesitantly followed. "Then we look up at the stars. Simple."

"And that will take how long, exactly?" Xehanort asked, shivering. Radiant Garden was in the midst of autumn, but the height they were at made it feel more like winter.

Braig slid an arm under Xehanort's head, cushioning it. "As long as we like."

"I see," Xehanort murmured. He was too distracted trying to draw out the constellations to notice Braig shifting so he was facing him. He was just shaping out Ganymede's position when he felt Braig place a hand over his stomach.

Xehanort tensed. "I told you if this was an elaborate attempt to sleep with me, I'd -"

"You said no such thing," Braig said. "And I'm not trying to fuck you. At least, not right now. Calm down."

"If one of the others sees us," Xehanort started to say, but he found he didn't know how to finish it. Braig's touch always made him a little hazy, a little less in control than he usually was. What would be the harm in letting the others know? Xehanort was always vehemently against it, although he couldn't put a finger on why.

That, and his touch hurt. It always did, always made him flinch at the weight of Braig’s affection for him. He just wasn’t the type of person who could accept those feelings easily, he supposed.

Braig sighed and pulled Xehanort closer. "It's the middle of the night. No one's gonna come up here. We’ve got plenty of privacy."

"Yes, I know that," Xehanort said. He slowly brought a hand up to lay on top of Braig's.

They laid there for a while just like that. Xehanort found himself enjoying it more than he thought he would; the stars twinkling in the distance felt familiar, as if he had been out there before, travelling among them. He imagined what each star must be like, how the worlds orbiting them looked, what the people living there looked like. Braig seemed content to keep facing him, eyes closed as if he were asleep. Eventually Xehanort sat up, figuring that his arm must be getting sore.

Braig took the opportunity to sit up next to him, grab his journal, and flip it open.

Xehanort glanced over at it. It was thick, with a few hundred pages at least. All of them were absolutely covered in ink of various colors. There were pages upon pages of writing, interspaced with sketches, some beautifully detailed and others quick gesture drawings. He noted curiously that some of the pages had slightly smudged ink, as if someone had written them with their left hand.

“I thought you were right handed,” he said, not bothering to specify what he was referring to. He rarely had to with Braig.

Braig flipped to an empty page and popped open his pen. “I used to be left handed.”

Xehanort frowned. “Used to be? Were you forced to write with your right hand?”

“Nah, things change is all.” He turned so Xehanort couldn’t see the journal and put pen to paper. “Just sit, okay? I wanna sketch you.”

“Why,” Xehanort muttered, but he did as he was asked and sat up straight. Braig sketched for only a few minutes before he held out the journal for Xehanort to look at.

“You’re very skilled,” Xehanort said. The sketch, although simple, did have a remarkable likeness.

"I've had a lot of time to practice," Braig murmured. He sounded unusually wistful.

"Do you… wish to talk about it?" Xehanort asked, feeling like he already knew the answer.

"Nope," Braig said. "Thanks for being worried about me, though."

Xehanort nodded. Then he looked back up at the stars. "Am I much the same?"

"Hmm?"

"Am I the same. As I was before."

Braig looked at him carefully for a moment before laughing. "No. You're a lot more laid back, now."

"I see."

They stayed there for a while longer, watching the stars flicker as Braig wrote in his diary. Xehanort was curious, wanting to know what he was writing as much as he wanted to know the secrets of the worlds. But he also knew, from the way Braig glanced up at him pointedly when he leaned over to get a look, that this wasn't for him. Part of him was a little miffed, since Braig rarely refused him anything, except from their shared past. And wasn’t that unfair? Braig already kept so much from him. He had no right to more secrets.

But that part was easily quieted when Xehanort started to sway in his exhaustion and Braig placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Ready to go back, Mister Master?" He asked quietly.

"Yes," Xehanort said, taking one last glance up at the stars, wondering which one he’d been born on. "I believe I am."

They walked back in relative silence, with Braig's humming and the creaking of the castle the only audible sounds. True to what he'd said earlier, Braig (and all the castle guards, Xehanort figured) knew exactly where Ansem the Wise’s apprentices lived. They had a section of the castle all to themselves, with each of them having their own set of personal rooms. Braig led Xehanort up to his room with practiced ease, having been there many times before.

Although this seemed more intimate than usual. Braig had shown up at Xehanort’s door before to drag him out for dinner dates and movies, but he'd never walked Xehanort _ back _to his room. Xehanort felt oddly safe, and, well, cared for. Like Braig was silently telling him how much he loved him with the gesture.

But wasn't that disingenuous? Although Xehanort was sure Braig was telling the truth about their past relationship, and he felt the undeniable affection between them, he wasn't sure if what they shared was love. It was an odd mix match of emotions all bundled together deep in Xehanort's heart, often playing second to his ambitions and dreams. The feelings rarely came to the forefront of his mind, and when they did come, they came on strongly, washing away everything else in their intensity. Like they had tonight.

"Braig," Xehanort said, then halted. He didn't know what he wanted to say.

"Yeah?"

Braig looked at him curiously. Xehanort gulped. "Nevermind. Goodnight."

If Braig was disappointed, he didn't show it. "’Night, Xehanort. Sleep in tomorrow."

Xehanort nodded, suddenly realizing how tired he was. He unlocked the door, stepped inside, and, after a quick glance back at Braig, closed it. His room was just as spacious and empty as ever, with a small stack of papers and lab books on his table the only proof it was lived in.

There was an empty notebook sitting on top of all of it. Xehanort had intended to use it to record an experiment he was working on setting up next week. He regarded the notebook carefully.

"A diary," he murmured. "Perhaps tomorrow."

He didn't set his alarm clock before his head hit the pillow.

\---

Luxu looked over his diary, tapping at the paper idly with his pen. He traced the sketch of Xehanort with his finger, then flipped the diary closed and tossed it down on the desk. A quick rummage through his desk drawer produced another diary, much, much older, with frayed pages and fading ink. Every once in a while, Luxu rerecorded it in a new book, then destroyed the old one. He wanted to make absolutely certain he didn't lose these memories. They were too precious.

He flipped open the diary to a page he had dog eared a long time ago. It was a sketch of _ him_, perfect and beautiful and glorious as always. Luxu knew he was more impressive in person - at least, he thought he was. With how crappy his memory was getting, it was hard to tell when he was looking back with rose tinted glasses.

"Wonder if you knew," he said, staring at the sketch as if it could come to life and answer him. "About us. Wonder if you're jealous."

He put both diaries back carefully and locked the drawer. Then he flipped back down on his bed and looked at the stars still shining through the window. They looked just the same against the as the ones in Daybreak Town had.

"I'm gonna have to say goodbye to him when you come back, huh," he mused. "Or maybe before that. I don't think you'd let him stay with us. He's just a pawn in your plan, and you always were the jealous type, even if you'd never admit it."

He turned over, away from the window, and stared hard into the shadows of his room. There was no use worrying about things now. Until the time came, he could dream.

\---


End file.
